


Kiss Me

by annalikestotalk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, not graphic but it's mentioned a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annalikestotalk/pseuds/annalikestotalk
Summary: “Kiss me.”“What?” Derek pauses in his panicking to give Stiles a wide eyed stare, and sure, it’s probably a long shot, but Derek’s only idea is to find a different escape route and they both know that the only way out is the door.“Look man, we don’t have time for this. Do you trust me?” Derek doesn’t have time to respond before Stiles is pulling him in by the collar, hands diving into his hair and messing it up. Derek can only be frozen for a second, because frankly there isn’t time for it to be any longer, but it feels like aeons to Stiles, who is suddenly realising exactly what it is he’s doing. He’s about to pull away because it’s a dumb idea anyway, what is he doing, why the hell did he think this would even work? Except Derek’s hands have gone to Stiles’ hips and- oh. He’s kissing Derek. Okay then.The door opens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This started with just the prompt 'kiss me' and turned into this. I don't know what happened.

“Kiss me.”

“What?” Derek pauses in his panicking to give Stiles a wide eyed stare, and sure, it’s probably a long shot, but Derek’s only idea is to find a different escape route and they both know that the only way out is the door.

“Look man, we don’t have time for this. Do you trust me?” Derek doesn’t have time to respond before Stiles is pulling him in by the collar, hands diving into his hair and messing it up. Derek can only be frozen for a second, because frankly there isn’t time for it to be any longer, but it feels like aeons to Stiles, who is suddenly realising exactly what it is he’s doing. He’s about to pull away because it’s a dumb idea anyway, what is he doing, why the hell did he think this would even work? Except Derek’s hands have gone to Stiles’ hips and- oh. He’s kissing Derek. Okay then.

The door opens.

 “Have you found – oh. You shouldn’t be in here.” They pull apart and Stiles feels an entirely too real embarrassment flooding through him. Derek is still in front of him, hands tight on his hips, and he turns his head to look at the door over his shoulder. Stiles goes up on tiptoe to see over the hulking mass of Derek in front of him and feels dread replace the embarrassment as he realises who has just interrupted them.

The man is small, dressed in an immaculate grey suit and thin, wire framed glasses, and his voice had been soft but firm. He’s accompanied by a stern looking woman, a secretary probably, but Stiles can’t seem to take his eyes off of the man. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights, like some kind of prey, and he doesn’t appreciate the feeling. The man probably doesn’t come up to Stiles’ shoulders and he doesn’t exactly look muscular but Stiles can feel the power he exudes anyway, and he’s undeniably recognisable. This is Mr Park, the big boss, the guy in charge, the one who was _absolutely not going to be here tonight._ They had all agreed that the plan wasn’t safe enough to try if Park wasn’t at least out of the state, let alone the county, let alone the goddamn _building_.

So the most dangerous man in Beacon Hills has just walked into his office before Derek and Stiles have managed to find anything useful, and Stiles’ immediate plan was to shove his tongue down Derek’s throat. He’s still dealing with what he’s going to call a healthy amount of fear, but the thought is enough to send a blush to his cheeks, and he takes it and runs with it.

“Oh my god, we are so sorry!” He blathers, flailing his arms and pulling away from Derek, grabbing his wrist as he goes. “We came to see my brother, he works just down the hall, and we – well. I suppose we got side tracked.” He ducks his head and giggles, and he sounds like an idiot, but if this actually works, he doesn’t really care if the whole of Beacon Hills thinks he has an IQ of thirteen. “I’m so sorry. We should probably go.” He pulls Derek along behind him and walks as quickly as he can without breaking into an actual run. There’s nothing he can do to hide their faces as they walk past Park, whose face hasn’t changed but whose eyes are glinting with something that’s scaring Stiles too much to call it humour.

He expects them to be stopped, expects questions at least - anything except the cold silence from the people they’re rapidly leaving behind them. Stiles drags Derek into a stairwell because he doesn’t trust elevators for quick getaways, and he makes the mistake of glancing over his shoulder before the door swings closed behind them. Park raises one hand in a goodbye that looks mocking, and feels far too much like a see-you-later.

-

They race the two streets back to the Camaro with the darkness of the night pressing down on both of them, neither wanting to stay in such a dangerous place any longer than they have to. They’re half way back to the loft, where the rest of the pack is waiting for them, when Stiles can no longer bear the tense silence surrounding them.

“So that was a bust.”

Derek doesn’t reply.

“I mean, really, we didn’t get anything; we were there for like, a minute before he walked in. Something must have happened. Lydia was the one with the timetables, and I don’t know about you, but I’m hesitant to think that Lydia of all people got something wrong.”

Still nothing.

“Still, that was quick thinking on my part, right? Like, sorry for springing that on you, but it totally worked. You can no longer make fun of me for the movies I watch when they’re _clearly_ integral to our survival.” Stiles pauses for a moment and scratches the back of his head. “Um, I am actually sorry about that. Like, genuinely. I know it was probably awful, and I know that kissing me is probably the last thing you ever want to do, but to be fair, we didn’t die, so…”

There’s another moment of silence, before Derek huffs a quiet sigh and glances at Stiles out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, us not dying doesn’t mean your plan worked. We might have been fine anyway.” Stiles gets the distinct feeling that Derek is baiting him, but he huffs indignantly anyway.

“Oh really? And how do you think he would have reacted if he had walked in to find us rifling through his drawers?” Now he’s pretty certain Derek is laughing at him, despite his lips staying in their usual flat line. There’s something about his eyebrows that makes Stiles feel like he’s being mocked.

“I don’t know. It didn’t happen. Which means you can’t prove that your plan was what got us out of there.” Stiles doesn’t really have a response except to squeak resentfully and flail his arms around. And Stiles would swear that the corners of Derek’s mouth are starting to turn up slightly except that they’re pulling onto the street that the loft is on and they’re both starting to sober up at the prospect of returning empty-handed.

Derek parks and Stiles climbs out of the car, trudging over to the door of the building. They both move slowly up the stairs, reluctant to return to an expectant pack and give them the bad news. When they finally enter the loft, everyone is already on their feet, turned towards them and looking hopeful. Their faces all fall when they see them, although no one looks particularly surprised, and there’s a hesitant pause as everyone decides they don’t want to be the one to ask. Stiles sighs and make his way over to the sofa, throwing himself down face first.

“So, um…” Offers Scott finally. “I guess you guys didn’t find anything.” Stiles groans into the cushion his face is mashed against.

“He was there.” Says Derek, and Stiles can feel the sudden stillness in the air as everyone freezes. For a second, it’s so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat.

“What do you mean, he was there?” Demands Lydia. “He can’t have been there. He was supposed to be in New York until tomorrow evening.” Stiles hears Derek sigh, and raises his head from the couch. Derek looks defeated, shoulders hunched over as if he’s trying to make himself smaller, and he looks exhausted. Stiles feels for the guy – he looks like he hasn’t slept in three weeks, and Stiles knows what it’s like to be exhausted and have to keep going anyway. It’s been pretty much his entire life since Scott got bitten.

“And yet.” He mutters, flipping over to face the ceiling. “Sorry Lyds, but it was definitely him. Good old Mr Park caught us red handed. Dude practically radiated ‘I can have you killed and never even be suspected for it’ vibes.” Erica scoffs from where she’s settled down with Boyd on the loveseat while they’ve been talking, and Scott nudges Stiles’ feet off of the sofa so he can drop to the couch in defeat. Lydia copies him on the armchair to their right. Isaac hasn’t moved from where he’s leant against the wall and Stiles wonders if he’s trying to copy Derek’s threatening loom. If he is, he’s failing. He just looks kind of bitchy.

Derek finally moves from his place in front of the door to push Stiles into the middle seat so he can sit down next to the arm of the sofa, and Stiles leans into him. They’re not exactly touchy-feely most of time, but Stiles knows that Derek’s a tactile person when he stops posturing for a moment. He doesn’t lean back into him, but he relaxes a little, and Stiles will take it for now.

“You guys really didn’t get _anything_?” Derek glares at Isaac and Stiles doesn’t even bother to answer. “Fine. So what do we do now?” Isaac’s frowning and his bottom lip is sticking out slightly in an unconscious approximation of a pout. It’s adorable, if Stiles is being honest, but he vows to never say that out loud because he likes having his arms attached. Instead, he shrugs.

“Well, he didn’t kill us on the spot, but he’s gotta be suspicious. Security’s gonna be increased, and we still don’t know what he’s doing with the creatures he’s taking.”

“People, Stiles. He’s taking people.” Scott sounds upset, and Stiles refuses to think about whether it’s because of the people being taken, or Stiles’ phrasing.

“Okay, people. But he’s not taking them because they’re people, Scott. I don’t know if you remember this from the meeting _three hours ago_ , or the research we’ve been doing for _three weeks_ , but he’s taking people who are more than people. In the past month alone, there’s been two wolves, three witches, a banshee, and a vampire. An actual, real life vampire, which, wow, those are actually real. Can’t wait to almost get killed by one of those.” It’s sarcastic, but only mostly. Stiles is curious and has zero sense of self preservation, so he’s actually kind of hoping he gets a chance to meet a vampire at some point. He knows it will inevitably end up in injury and pain for him, but it might just be worth it for an up close look at a _vampire_.  “And that’s just the ones we know about. The point is that supernatural creatures are in danger. The point is that the people _in this room_ are in danger.” Scott’s frown deepens, but he stays quiet.

“So he’s taking people, but we don’t know why, and we got into his office, but we got caught, and we know he’s evil, but we can’t prove it?” Erica laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “Wow, we are doing _great_.”

“He shouldn’t have been there.” Lydia says again. She sounds angry, and Stiles knows it’s directed inwards, knows she’s thinking desperately trying to find where she went wrong, what she missed. Stiles doubts she’ll find anything. Something changed, he’s sure of it, something went wrong and sent Park running back to Beacon Hills. He hopes it was something in their favour, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

“There’s nothing we can do about it tonight.” Sighs Derek. “We didn’t get anything, which means we haven’t got anything new to go on. And since everyone is alive and in one piece, there’s nothing to be dealt with right now. You should all go home and get some rest.” No one seems to want to move.

“Hey, speaking of alive and in one piece.” Says Erica. “How did you guys get out of there?”  Stiles goes red and looks at Derek, who has frozen. He turns back to the expectant group and stutters and flails for a moment before getting out –

“I talked our way out! You know me, I never shut up, I just kept talking and we walked right on out.” Scott shoots him a confused frown.

“Stiles, I love you, but you talking is rarely how we get _out_ of trouble.”

“Scott!” Stiles clutches his chest and gasps dramatically. “How could you? I trusted you, loved you like a brother, and this is how you repay me? Betrayal! Treason!”

“Stiles.” Huffs Scott fondly. Stiles lifts the back of his hand to his forehead and drapes himself across Scott’s lap, lamenting his best friend’s treachery. Everyone else is scoffing and telling him to shut up, but apart from a searching look from Lydia, they all seem to have forgotten what they were talking about and Derek has relaxed again, so he figures everything is fine.

-

Everything is not fine.

It’s been two days since they got caught in Park’s office and Derek has barely spoken three words to Stiles, and they still haven’t found any new leads, and Stiles is starting to wish this thing would hit its big climax right now because he’s so freaking tired, and he just wants to be done, wants to be able to sleep without knowing that his friends are in imminent danger. He needs something to happen soon or he’s going to go crazy. But nothing happens, because nothing ever happens when he wants it to, so he contents himself with going over what they know.

  1. Park is taking supernatural creatures. They don’t know how, or why, or where, but they know he’s taking them.
  2. He’s quiet about it. If they weren’t all so paranoid, if they didn’t all live in a town Stiles is convinced is on top of a hellmouth, if they didn’t all die so often that carelessness is not an option, they wouldn’t have noticed it. Even as it is, they got lucky, stumbled across the tail end of a kidnapping too late to stop it but early enough to see the shifted wolf be thrown into a car and driven away.
  3. Park is the one behind it all. It’s taken them almost three entire weeks to follow it back to him, but it’s definitely him. He’s good, no order coming directly from him, no contact with the lower levels, but he’s not perfect, and one slip up from a messenger had led them to him. He’s the brains, money, and driving force behind the operation.
  4. He is human. He is also having people kidnapped. This means that the easiest solution to this would be to find evidence and let the cops deal with it. Unfortunately,
  5. Park is a lawyer. He knows how to cover his tracks, knows not to leave evidence where it could be found, which is why they had chosen to search his office as a last resort. That plan didn’t work, and revisiting it is unfeasible now, because a man as smart as Park has no doubt tripled the security around it by now.



So basically, they have nothing. They can’t even come up with a possible motive, for god’s sake, and with no new leads to chase up, there’s no new information and nothing to do but wait for something to happen. The pack has spent most of the last two days in Derek’s loft, searching and reading, going over everything they already had, but they all know they won’t find anything. The office was their last option, and now that it’s gone, nothing short of a miracle is going to help them here.

What this means is that the rest of the pack has wandered home to spend their Sundays doing something other than hopelessly praying that they’d missed something. Stiles is still at the loft though. He knows he won’t find anything, but he also knows that if he goes home he’s going to go stir crazy. He has to be doing something, even if it’s pointless.

So Stiles is sprawled across the sofa, rereading missing persons reports in case there’s some connection other than the supernatural (there isn’t. Stiles has done this six times already) and Derek is sitting in the armchair going through Park’s timetable and cross referencing it with what they know about the locations of supernatural packs in America, hoping to find something they missed (he won’t. They already know there’s a connection). Stiles wishes he could say they’re working in companionable silence, but the air between them has been nothing but tense since they got back from Park’s office.

And look, it’s not like they’re best friends or anything, okay? Derek is still closed off most of the time, and he’s frankly hostile if you catch him on a bad day. But somehow, him and Stiles had settled into something almost friendly, had started talking without the thinly veiled threats and antagonism that laced most of their early conversations.

Stiles likes Derek, if he’s being honest. Derek is smart, and funny when he wants to be, and he’s actually been doing an okay job of this whole alpha, protector of Beacon Hills thing, considering he has no idea what he’s doing. Stiles knows what it’s like to be thrown into something huge and be expected to deal with it, knows what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning in responsibility that you never expected to have. Since Scott was bitten, it’s pretty much been Stiles’ job to figure out what’s killing people before it kills them, and then to stop his friends dying when they inevitably refuse to listen to him and do something stupid. He knows how it feels to have lives resting on your shoulders, and to feel woefully unprepared to protect them.

Stiles likes Derek, likes talking to him, likes the friendship they’d tentatively formed amidst the constant, never ending apocalypse of their lives. And now Derek is avoiding him, is refusing to talk to him, and Stiles just knows it’s because of the kiss. It has to be. And he hates it.

“So…” He starts, because just because he knows he has to say something doesn’t mean he actually knows what to say. There’s a moment of silence. “You’ve been quiet.”

Derek doesn’t even look up.

“Look, if I made you uncomfortable or something, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything, I just needed to get us out of there.” Derek glances at him over the top of his papers and frowns. Stiles counts it as progress. “I know kissing me probably sucked – that is what you’re angry at me about, right? Anyway, I know it was probably awful, but I wasn’t trying to freak you out or anything.”

Derek is looking right at him now, and his eyebrows are as frowny as Stiles has ever seen them. He opens his mouth a little, looking like he’s trying to figure out what to say, and Stiles fidgets with the effort of keeping quiet.

“It’s fine, Stiles. You were just doing what you had to.” It’s what Stiles had wanted to hear, but he finds he’s not happy with it. Derek doesn’t look like he’s forgiven Stiles. He looks like he wants Stiles to shut up.

“I’m serious, dude. I know you’re upset with me. You’re not exactly subtle.” Stiles pushes himself up off the sofa and walks over to Derek, who is suddenly very interested in the papers in front of him and refusing to look at him. “Hey, talk to me.”

“I said it’s fine, Stiles. Drop it.” Derek knows Stiles better than that though, and he drops his papers on the coffee table with a frustrated sigh.

“You haven’t spoken to me in two days. You barely even look at me. Any time I speak you look like you want to punch something. Seriously, Derek. I get that I didn’t exactly wait for permission but I had to think quickly. It’s not like it meant anything.” Derek stands up and turns to face Stiles, clearly trying to loom over him, but hey, would you look at that, Stiles is the same height as him now. He wonders when that happened.

“Stiles. Drop. It.” He turns to stalk towards the kitchen, and Stiles follows.

“Hey. Hey! Would you stop? I’m not gonna drop it. You’re clearly angry with me, and fine, okay, I don’t get it, but sure. But it’s been two days, Derek, and we’re kind of in the middle of a crisis, so if you could chill just until the current catastrophe is over, that would be great.” Derek whirls to face him, and yep, that’s definitely his angry face.

“Oh sure, Stiles, I’ll just put that on hold, shall I? Hey emotions, you’re inconveniencing Stiles right now, so if you could just stop for a while, that’d be great!”

“So you admit you’re angry?”

“I’m not fucking angry!” All of a sudden, Stiles’ brain catches up with the fact that they’re right up in each other’s faces, chests all but pressed together, and Stiles heart is pounding, and that’s anger, it must be, because Derek is being a dick and what else could it be? And Derek’s eyes are looking at his lips and they’re leaning towards each other and getting closer, and something big is about to happen, Stiles feels it in his _bones_ , just another second –

Derek freezes and his head snaps up. He’s looking at the door and Stiles knows something is wrong.

“What? What is it?” He whispers, and Derek shushes him, puts a hand on his chest to tell him to stay where he is.

“Blood.” He whispers back, before slowly heading towards the door. Stiles wants to go with him, but if there is something dangerous, he knows he’ll only get in the way.

Derek is most of the way to the door when someone knocks. It’s weak and slow, three gentle taps, and Stiles is used to scary, but that’s the most terrifying thing he’s heard in months, and his heart is about to burst out of his chest when Derek takes the last few strides towards the door and flings it open.

Suddenly, the smell of blood washes over Stiles, sickly and metallic and _wrong_ somehow. He wonders how it took Derek so long to smell it when it’s so pungent. It makes his head swim so much that it takes him a few moments to place the _wrong_ smell as wolfsbane, and another few to register the person standing in the doorway.

The girl is young, a few years younger than Stiles at least. Her clothes are torn and Stiles can see cuts and wounds below them, too precise to be accidents, too even to be from a fight. She looks exhausted and terrified, her eyes bloodshot and sunken, and she manages one step towards Derek before collapsing. Derek rushes forwards to catch her, lowering her gently to the floor and she looks up at him.

“Help me.” She croaks out, and it sounds painful, but there’s no time to ask how, because she passes out immediately after.  Derek looks up at Stiles, wide-eyed and shocked, and Stiles swallows heavily.

“I’ll call the pack.”

-

Eight hours later, the sun has started going down and the pack is assembled in Derek’s living room, anxiously waiting for the girl to come downstairs. She had woken up twenty minutes earlier, but Lydia had taken one look at her and refused to listen to a word she’d said before she’d cleaned up. The girl had seemed grateful, and even though they have no idea what happened to her, Stiles gets the feeling that a hot shower is probably exactly what she needed.

The girl comes downstairs with her damp hair pulled up into a bun and wearing clothes Lydia had brought for her. She still looks exhausted, but she looks better than she had when she had arrived and her skin is no longer ashen grey, so it’s something. Derek comes out of the kitchen with a glass of water and a sandwich, and the girl barely takes a second to thank him before she’s tearing into the meal like she hasn’t eaten or drunk for days. Stiles’ stomach twists a little when he realises she probably hasn’t. When she finishes, she looks hopefully to Derek, who takes the plate back to the kitchen and returns with the same thing again. This time she eats a little more slowly, and Stiles figures she’s probably ready. 

“I need to look at your wounds.” He says, grabbing the first aid kit he had resting at his feet. She nods a little and pulls up her shirt to expose her torso. There’s a unanimous gasp as they all see the damage to her stomach. There are cuts lining the whole thing, straight and precise and not healing properly, thanks to the wolfsbane in them. It’s not fatal, which means there’s really not much Stiles can do about it except clean it and leave it to heal on its own at a normal human rate. He tells her this and she nods, so he sets about cleaning them.

“So. What’s your name?” He asks as he works. She glances over at him, but refuses to make eye contact. She still seems a little skittish.

“Sarah. Sarah Begay. I- I’m from the Begay pack in Arizona.”                                                                               

“Your mother is Aiyana Begay?” Derek asks and Sarah nods, wincing as Stiles cleans one of the deeper cuts. “I met her once, when I was a child. She seemed nice.”

“She was.” Replies Sarah, and there’s a pause.

“Was?” Asks Erica.

“She – she died.” Says Sarah, and she ducks her head as her voice becomes choked. “There were hunters… We ran, but she got shot. She…” She trails off, taking deep breaths. “They killed the entire pack. I got away, but I had nowhere to go, and then a few days later, these guys grabbed me, and I was too weak to fight them…”

Stiles has just finished putting bandages over her cuts, and his hands pause where he’s securing them. Scott looks like he wants to say something, but Stiles butts in before he can.

“Grabbed you? You were kidnapped?” The room is still as Sarah nods again, wiping tears away from her face. Stiles would like to give her a minute, but this is too important. “Where did they take you?”

“There was… an arena.” She says. “They make people fight. To the death. People pay a lot, apparently. I heard some of the guards talking about it. They wanted me to fight, but I wouldn’t, so…” She trails off and gestures to her torso.

“How?” Stiles asks. “They kidnapped witches. They should have been able to just magic their way out, even if they couldn’t do it physically.”

“Well, there must be someone magical on their side, because there are containment wards on all of the cells and they’ve bound the arena so that magic can’t get out of it. Nothing can.”

“But you escaped.” Points out Isaac. “You got out.”

“That’s it!” Exclaims Stiles, and everyone jumps a little. There are many glares. “Sorry. But that’s it. That’s why Park came back. Someone escaped.” The pieces are beginning to slot together, but Derek is frowning.

“That was two days ago. You’ve been on your own, like this, for two days?” The girl shrugs.

“I had to make sure they weren’t following me. I could smell you, I knew I could track down this pack, but there would have been  no point if they had followed me here.” Stiles is impressed. This girl was hurt and terrified but still smart. “By the way, is this… is this Beacon Hills?”

“It is.” Says Derek, and Sarah’s eyes go a little wide.

“I thought so, but… That means you’re the Hale pack.” They all glance at each other, slightly confused.

“You’ve heard of us?” Asks Derek.

“Of course. Everyone’s heard about the craziness around here. You guys basically stop the world from ending once a month. You must be incredibly strong.” Stiles snorts, and turns it into a cough when Derek glares. “I want protection.” Everyone stares at her.

“What?” Asks Scott. Sarah puffs her chest out and sits up straighter.

“I want protection. The Hale pack is strong and I have nowhere to go. I’ll help you, but in return, I want your protection.” Derek looks to Stiles, and Stiles nods. It’s a fair trade, and besides, Stiles is starting to like her.

“Okay. You have our protection. Unless anyone has any objections?” He turns to the rest of the room, but no one says anything. Stiles has no doubt that if she hadn’t asked, it would have been offered anyway.

“Okay. Okay.” She deflates a little, some of the tension in her shoulders gone.

“So how did you escape?” Asks Lydia. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that there’s an entrance they leave unguarded.” Sarah shakes her head.

“No. There was – a guard. He said… well. He said some things. About me. How pretty I was.” Everyone looks disgusted. “I convinced him to let me out. Said I’d let him… He didn’t think I was a threat.” Her eyes glint a little. “He was wrong.” Stiles is horrified, but he’s proud of the fight he sees in this girl. He thinks that after all of this is done, she’s gonna be just fine. “I took his keys, but I dropped them somewhere in the woods. I’m sorry.”

“How old are you?” Says Scott, and he sounds almost like he doesn’t want an answer.

“Fifteen.” Sarah replies, and if everyone was angry before, they’re downright furious now. Erica growls like she wants to tear the guard’s throat out, and Stiles can’t help but agree.

“Okay.” Says Derek after a moment. “We can’t let anyone else die. When’s the next fight? How long do we have to prepare?”

“Tomorrow.” Stiles groans. Of course. They couldn’t have a few days, no, that would just be too convenient. Instead they get a few hours.

“If Park is there, he’s gonna bring extra security with him. We need to be there when he isn’t.” He looks helplessly over at Derek. “You’re sure we can’t let just one more person die?” Derek frowns disapprovingly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I guess we’re doing this tonight then. We’ll need a plan.”

“I have a plan.” Says Derek. “We kill the guards, we get the prisoners out, we help them get back home. Now we know what Park’s doing, we can start dismantling it. And we have leverage over him.”

“And if he keeps going? Are we going to kill him, too?” Asks Scott forcefully.

“If we have to.” Scott is clearly displeased with that, but Stiles shoots him a quelling look. Scott might not like it, and honestly neither does Stiles, but sometimes letting people go just ends in more people getting hurt. Stiles has been trying to get him to understand that for a long time, but he doesn’t think Scott is ever going to be okay with it. Stiles doesn’t want him to be. He wouldn’t be Scott if he was.

“What about me?” Sarah sounds worried. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but I’m not going back there.”

“You won’t have to.” Lydia soothes. She turns to Stiles. “What shift is your dad working?”

“He’s working normal human hours today. We can leave her with him.” Stiles supplies, nodding. It’s a good solution.

“Won’t he have some questions about the injured teenager you’re dumping on him for the night while you go running off to god knows where?” Isaac asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Nah. He stopped asking questions about the same time as I told him werewolves exist. He’s happier that way.” Stiles turns back to Sarah. “Well then. Point us towards the thunderdome.”

-

The ‘arena’ is located in an old abandoned hotel complex out on the edge of Beacon Hills. It’s tucked away in some woodland, not actually all that far out from the main town, but hidden enough that nobody is going to stumble across it by accident. There are no guards on the outside which is unsurprising. They’re more worried about people getting out than in.

There are guards at the stairwells, but not enough to put up much of a fight. Stiles searches the bodies for keys and tries not to gag at the smell of blood filling his nose. It makes it harder, but he’s okay with it being something he’ll never get used to.

The ground floor is mostly deserted, and there’s really nothing to find until they make their way to what is, ostensibly, a functions hall, but registers more to Stiles as a grand ballroom. He hadn’t realised the hotel was so fancy, but there are literal opera boxes overlooking the hall and the whole things practically reeks of money.

“Look.” Says Isaac, pointing to a part of the wall. There are long, deep scratches there, and Stiles looks around the rest of it to find similar scratches covering the entire room. Above the doorway there are intricate looking runes, and Stiles may not be magic himself, but he’s read enough to know that these are powerful binding charms.

“Well.” He says. “I guess we’ve found our arena.”

“Where are the cells?” Asks Scott, glancing around like he expects them to be found any minute, which, on reflection, is something that could actually happen to them right now.

“Upstairs.” Replies Stiles. “Sarah said they’re kept in the rooms.”

“Practical.” Mutters Lydia, though she doesn’t sound impressed.

“Right.” Derek announces. “Stiles, Isaac, Erica and I will take the first floor. Scott, take Lydia and Boyd and sweep the second. Get everyone out, and take out as many guards as you can. We’ll meet up on the ground floor again.”

“Woah, wait. We’re splitting up?” Asks Stiles. “Have you never watched a horror movie? I don’t want to die here, dude!” Derek glares.

“This isn’t a movie, Stiles. It’s quicker to split up, and we should be able to deal with this amount of guards. Now can we shut up and move before someone stumbles onto us and sounds an alarm?” He glares round at everyone and they all start moving. Stiles supposes he has a point, but he still doesn’t trust it. It’s been too quiet, and a horrible part of him hopes there’s a ridiculous amount of guards on the two remaining floors, just so that the apprehensive feeling in his stomach will shut the hell up. Easy never bodes well for them.

The group splits up in the stairwell and Derek pauses to listen at the door, and frowns.

“I can only hear one.” He says, and Stiles’ stomach twists like it’s trying to yell at him. “Wait here.”

“Derek, wait-“ calls Stiles, but Derek has already slipped beyond the door, and Stiles hears a distinct crunching sound that he wishes was harder for him to place. He hates that he can recognise the sound of a snapped neck now. He hates that he doesn’t even flinch.

What does make him flinch is the smell as the rest of the group joins Derek in the hallway. It’s similar to how Sarah smelt when she showed up at the loft, but intensified and worse. It’s not just wolfsbane either; Stiles can smell fennel and something kind of garlicky, all mixing in with the unmistakable copper scent of blood. He can hear Erica complaining somewhere in front of him, but he can’t hear the words, can’t hear anything really because his own blood is rushing in his ears and he can’t even breathe, it’s filling his nose and his throat and clogging it, and oh god, this was a bad idea, he can’t _breathe_ -

Derek places his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and squeezes, hard. It’s enough to break Stiles out of his panic, enough that he can swallow and gasp in a breath and give a shaky nod in answer to the question Derek’s raised eyebrow is asking – he’s fine, he’s okay, he can do this.

The others have already spread out down the hall to check out the rooms. They’re locked, which is unsurprising, but Stiles had picked up the keys, so they start opening them. About half are empty, and Stiles searches, but there’s no sign of anything vampiric.

“Any vampires upstairs?” He calls through the ceiling. Erica cocks her head a little, then turns to Stiles and shakes her head, smirking. Damn. Stiles has to admit, he’s a little disappointed, but he reckons he’ll probably run into one at some point. He has a talent for meeting things that want to kill him.

Stiles refuses to let any of the wolves enter the rooms in case they get trapped. He remembers what Sarah said about containment wards. He ducks into one of the empty rooms, and yep, carved right above the doorway, the same intricate designs they had seen in the arena. He thinks maybe scratching them off would work, but he’s kind of doubtful, and he’s reluctant to let one of the pack try it. He tells them as much, and they all seem to agree. The last thing they need right now is to risk getting on the wrong side of unpredictable magic.

Or rather, that’s one of the last things they need right now. It’s probably number two on the list, maybe number three after someone getting injured or trapped. Number one would, of course, be the arrival of Mr Park, along with about fifty armed guards. That would really suck.

Which is why, when the wolves’ heads suddenly snap up and towards the front of the hotel, Stiles is unsurprised, but understandably perturbed.

“Tomorrow!” He whines when he sees the look on their faces. “Sarah said we had until tomorrow!”

“Guess she was wrong.” Says Isaac, and it’s clearly meant to come out confident, but it wavers a little.

“How many?” Asks Stiles, and he wishes he didn’t have to hear the answer.

“Ten? Not including Park.” Says Erica, then pauses. “Maybe fifteen.”

“Too many.” Growls Derek. “Scott, get everyone down here. We need to regroup.” Stiles can’t hear Scott’s response through the floor, but Derek leaves it there, so Stiles will assume Scott hadn’t argued.

Less than a minute later, everyone is gathered on the first floor, and Stiles can feel the tension hanging in the air.

“We can fight our way out!” Insists Erica. Next to her, Boyd shakes his head.

“There’s too many.” He says, and Stiles knows it’s bad if even Boyd is cowed.

“There must be another way out.” Says Scott. “Another entrance, a fire escape, something!”

“There isn’t.” Responds Stiles. “The only way out is the same way we came in.” He locks eyes with Derek, and he can see that Derek is also thinking about the last time they were faced with Mr Park and only one exit.

“Well we have to do something!” Huffs Erica. “We can’t just sit here and wait to die.”

“Erica has a point.” Cuts in Lydia, and Erica nods emphatically. “There must be _something_ we can do.”

Stiles sighs. There really isn’t.

“Fine.” Says Derek. “We go down there, we confront him, and we bluff our way out. Any objections?”

“I have an objection.”

“What is it Stiles?” Derek sighs.

“I’m not a fan of dying.”

“What else can we do Stiles?” Derek sounds angry but his eyes are desperate, like he wants Stiles to have an answer. “Tell me what else we can do.”

Stiles doesn’t have an answer. He wishes he did.

“Okay.” Sighs Derek after a moment. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Derek leads the way down the stairs. No one speaks, and Stiles can feel the silence like a physical thing, pressing down on his shoulders and chest, and he almost feel that earlier panic returning. He wants to sit down and not move, knows there’s no way this can end well. For a moment, just a moment, he wishes they had just left these people to die. And then he catches up to himself and he hates himself for even thinking it. These people deserve to be safe as much as he does, as much as his pack does. There was no way they could ever turn their backs on them.

There’s a pause as they reach the bottom of the stairs, and then Derek is pushing the door open and striding out into the foyer. Immediately there’s shouting, but Derek just stands there, still and calm, despite the turbulence Stiles knows sits underneath. The pack spreads out behind him, Stiles only a step away to his right.

The security Park has brought with him spread out too, circling and surrounding the pack, and the men directly in front of them part to let him through. Park is dressed in a different suit to the night they saw him in his office, but his wire framed glasses are as familiar as the steely intelligence in the eyes behind them. Park doesn’t look surprised to see them. He doesn’t look anything, actually, except calculating.

“What a coincidence to run into you two here.” His voice shouldn’t be anything intimidating, but it makes Stiles shiver anyway. Derek shifts slightly towards him. “What can two young lovers and their friends possibly be doing in an abandoned hotel at this time of night?”

There’s a slight, questioning shift in the air around him and Stiles winces internally. He’d planned on never mentioning that to anyone, and he figures if they make it out of here, he’s probably going to have to explain that quip.

“I think you may be confused.” He says despite Derek’s quelling look, because he never did learn to keep his mouth shut.

“Oh? Do enlighten me.” Stiles thinks there’s a hint of humour in the glint of his eyes, a small curve of his mouth, and somehow it’s worse than the cold blankness before it. He swallows.

“Well, it’s not quite abandoned. In fact, it seems pretty occupied.” Park is definitely smiling now.

“Yes, well. Be that as it may, you are still very much unwelcomed here. I wish I could say we’ll let you go and just forget about this, but unfortunately, you’ve caught my attention.” Derek and Stiles share a panicked look. “Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski. The alpha and his packmate. And this is the rest of your brood, I assume?”

Stiles feels the blood draining out of his head. He saw their faces, of course he wanted to know who they were, why did no one think of that? And now they’re all going to die, and Stiles can’t help but blame himself.

“Well. As nice as it’s been to meet you all properly, I’m afraid I have business to attend to. We’re upping the fights to twice a week, in case you’re wondering. They’re very popular. Sedate them.” This last is said with a lazy wave of his hand as he turns away. The pack jumps forward as one, but they barely get a second before they’re each hit with a single dart. Stiles isn’t sure how long tranquilizers are supposed to take to kick in, and it’s as he’s wondering this that the world goes fuzzy, and there’s a faint thud as his body hits the floor.

-

Stiles wakes slowly and hazily, sluggish from whatever they used to put him under. The first thing that registers is a low hum of voices. They’re quiet but insistent, swinging from frustrated to panicked and back again. He struggles to open his eyes against the heaviness, and the voices pause.

“He’s awake.”

Stiles finally opens his eyes against the brightness beyond them and gazes around blearily at the assembled pack.

“What… Where… Oh my god.” Awareness hits him with all the gentleness of a speeding car, and his head is whipping around, trying to take in all of them at once. “Is everyone okay? Where’s Derek? And… Scott and Lydia. What the hell?” Isaac’s biting his lip, clearly trying to stay calm and instead achieving something more like a scared child. Boyd is frowning and Erica’s face is mirroring Isaac’s a worrying amount. It’s Erica that finally answers.

“They took them to the arena.” It takes Stiles a moment to process – not because he didn’t hear, or understand, but because there is absolutely no way they can deal with this. This is a worst case scenario they didn’t prep for.

Stiles can feel the panic rising in his throat and, just for a moment, he entertains the thought of letting it overtake him. Then he takes another look at his pack and two of them look terrified and Boyd looks like he’s worried, which is basically the same thing from him. As much as Stiles would like to freak out right now and not deal with this, he doesn’t have a choice. His pack needs him and he doesn’t have the luxury of panicking.

“Okay.” He says, breathing deeply. “You’re sure that’s where they are?” Erica nods.

“They must be. We can’t hear anything in there. If they were somewhere else we would know. Unless…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, and Stiles doesn’t ask her to. If they can’t hear them, then they’re in the arena. Anything else doesn’t bear considering.

“We need to get to the arena then. I suppose the first step is to get out of this room.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Scoffs Isaac. “The whole room is sealed by the wards, and even if it weren’t, the door’s locked. Even you can’t walk through walls, Stiles.”

“Look, just tell me how many guards there are out there.” Isaac sighs.

“On this floor? None.” Stiles’ eyebrows rise.

“What?”

“None.” Repeats Isaac. “I guess he didn’t think we were a threat.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Unless… oh. Oh, that’s perfect. Man, what an idiot! Do your damn research, Park!” He scoffs to the empty air.

“Unless what, Stiles?” Asks Erica. Stiles grins.

“Unless he thinks I’m a wolf.” Erica gives him an impatient ‘go on’ gesture, and Isaac raises an eyebrow that Stiles will assume is questioning, and not judging him. “It makes sense. He must think I’m some kind of magical, at least, or he would have left a guard in case I got out.”

“The door is _locked_ , Stiles.” Grinds out Isaac.

“Any idiot can pick a lock.” Stiles waves his hands dismissively. “Besides, my dad’s the sheriff, and I spent a lot of time at the station as a kid. You really think I never learned how to get out of handcuffs?” Isaac looks annoyed still, but Erica is smiling. Even Boyd looks mildly interested in the conversation. “Now I just need to find something to pick it with. A couple bits of plastic, a hairpin, something.” His eyes are drawn by Erica rooting around in the pockets of her jeans, just before she comes up with a bobby pin in her grip. Stiles grins again, taking it from her.

“Right.” He mumbles to himself as he kneels in front of the door, snapping the pin in half. “That goes there and that goes there and… Come on… Just…Like…” He struggles for a second before an unmistakeable click sounds out. “That!” He turns back to them triumphantly, and even Isaac looks begrudgingly impressed.

“What do we do now?” Asks Boyd, and Stiles glances back at the door.

“We need to get you guys out of here.”

 “Alright. So we’ll claw the wards and leave.” Says Isaac, and Stiles is immediately stepping forwards to stop him from actually trying.

“No! No way, man. We don’t know anything about that ward. You scratching it might get rid of it. But considering it’s on the inside of the damn room, it’s more likely it’ll do something horrible to you if you try to remove it, otherwise the previous occupants would have just waltzed out.” Isaac reluctantly steps back.

“Maybe if…” Stiles racks his brain for everything he knows about magic, runes, and wards. ”Maybe if I can find something sharp, I’ll be able to scratch it off. It’s designed to hold supernatural things and I’m only human, so I shouldn’t set it off.”

“You’re sure?” Asks Isaac, eyeing the carvings.

“No. But it’s the best shot we have.”

No one is happy with this plan, least of all Stiles, but it really is the only one they have.

He knows there’s no one waiting in the hallway, but he opens the door hesitantly anyway, glancing up and down the corridor before stepping fully out into it. They’re on the first floor again, and someone has moved the body they left by the stairwell. Stiles would be worried, but the blood trail into the nearest room to that door tells him they didn’t take it far.

Walking into the room and seeing the body should be a relief, but Stiles can’t feel it past the smell of blood in his nose and the yellow, waxy appearance of dead skin. He approaches the body slowly, but he knows that he’s wasting time they don’t have, so he swallows heavily and kneels down next to the body leant haphazardly against the wall. Whoever put him in here clearly just wanted him out of the hallway - they haven’t even bothered to close his eyes, and Stiles can feel the empty stare fixed on him as he searches the man for a knife. He’d close them himself if the thought of touching that skin didn’t make his stomach churn.

He’s grateful to find the knife quickly, tucked into a compact sheath on the man’s belt, but he’s more grateful to leave the godforsaken room. He feels the dead man’s eyes on him even after he’s out of sight.

The wolves have barely moved when he gets back, and none of them speak as he enters. If anything, they look more scared, and Stiles takes a deep breath of clear, copper-free air, before turning and reaching up to place the knife against the wall.

The first press makes him wince in anticipation of mind shattering pain, but there’s nothing except an answering wince from the pack behind him. It’s a good thing, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. He hasn’t started damaging the ward yet, after all.

Slowly, he drags the knife across the carvings. His shoulders are tense, bunched up and ready to drop the knife and back away quickly, but it never comes. He keeps scratching until the runes are unrecognisable and only once he’s stepped away and a few seconds have passed does he relax, tension and fear leaving him swiftly in one big exhale. His suddenly calm muscles are aching from being held so tight for so long, and he rubs at his shoulders as he gestures towards the door.

“Someone should probably test it now.” The three wolves exchange glances.

“What if it’s not gone?” Isaac asks.

“Then you just won’t go through. Probably.”

“Probably?” Asks Erica, and Stiles wishes he had a better answer, but he doesn’t.

“Look, if I could do it for you, I would. I don’t like the idea of any of you getting hurt any more than you do. But I can’t, so one of you is going to have to.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay then.” Says Isaac. “Let’s do this.” He starts towards the door before anyone can say anything and there’s a simultaneous inhale as he approaches the doorway – then an exhale as he goes straight through, unharmed.

“Man, Isaac.” Says Erica as they follow him into the hallway. “I didn’t know you were such a badass.”

“Shut up.” Replies Isaac, but Stiles can see the smile he’s fighting to hide.

-

All of the guards seem to have congregated on the ground floor, and the wolves manage to estimate a force of around sixteen of them. It’s not the worst odds they’ve ever faced, but it’s not the best either. There’s going to be fighting before they get to the arena, and they’re going to have to keep it quiet. That means going straight for killing blows, even if they’re not clean. Stiles hates himself for mentioning this when the wolves pale, but none of them are surprised, and they all nod determinedly. Stiles gets it. It’s one thing to kill someone in the heat of battle, and quite another to plan it beforehand. It doesn’t feel like protecting or saving anyone. It just feels like killing.

Still, they make their way down the stairs and Stiles thanks god that the hotel is so large because it means that the guards are spread out and they’ll only have to deal with them in small groups. There are two guards stationed just beyond the door to the stairwell, and Boyd goes straight for one, snapping his neck quickly, while Erica and Isaac turn to the other and drag their claws across his throat. Stiles closes his eyes at the nausea that hits him as the man gurgles, choking on his own blood. The man dies. They carry on.

They’re lucky, and Stiles knows that they’re lucky, because they encounter three more groups of two guards that go down as quietly as the first, but Stiles doesn’t feel like he can celebrate their newfound good luck when it comes in the form of dying men breathing their last at the hands of him and his pack. Or his pack, at least. Stiles isn’t the one killing, hasn’t ever killed anyone except supernatural creatures in important, climactic, life-or-death moments. Stiles is just the one telling the others to kill them. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

There are more guards scattered around the floor, but no more in the way of the arena. They’re about to ascend the stairs to the entrance to the opera boxes, when the wolves pause. Stiles is about to ask what’s going on when Erica slaps a hand over his mouth and drags him behind the stairs, the others following. Immediately, Stiles hears the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and he twists to nod at Erica to let her know she can let go of him. He supposes the best thing would be to wait until whoever it is wanders off, but they’ve stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and they don’t seem to be moving.

They wait a minute, maybe two, before Stiles realises this person plans on staying where they are. The pack is looking at him expectantly, and Isaac makes an abortive hand gesture. Stiles shrugs and nods, and lets Boyd take point.

He expects it just to be another guard, but instead it’s someone familiar. The stern face is instantly recognisable as the woman from that night in Park’s office, the one he’d dismissed as just a secretary. She turns as she hears their footsteps.

“Who…” She trails off, frowning, before her eyes fall on Stiles, and immediately they’re blazing. Stiles wishes he could say that’s a metaphor, but there’s literal fire burning in her pupils, and Stiles reckons they’ve found their witch. “How did you get out?”

Stiles rushes to the front of the group before any of the wolves can do something stupid and prepares to do the stupid thing himself.

“Well, I guess those wards – they are yours, aren’t they? I guess they’re just a little too sloppy too contain us.” He smirks, and he sees the moment she begins to throw herself at him, no doubt to use some special brand of dark, painful magic on him. He closes his eyes and flinches. There’s a thudding sound, followed by a crack. Seconds pass.

Nothing happens.

Stiles opens one eye and peers at the witch, only to see Boyd standing in her place. He almost doesn’t want to look, but yep, there’s the witch at his feet, back bent at an impossible angle. He straightens up and looks at Boyd, who is a little grey around the edges, but seems to be holding together.

“You’re welcome.” He says, and Stiles chuckles slightly hysterically.

“Hey man, I’m super grateful. I’m just unimpressed. I mean, really, at least _try_ and be aware of your surroundings. Otherwise you could get hit by a speeding wolf.” He’s giggling slightly now, and the others are looking at him as if he’s gone insane, and Stiles is just riding high on the feeling that comes after the certainty of extreme pain, followed by the notable absence of said pain.

He sucks in a few breaths after a moment, fully aware that he does not have time for a breakdown right now. He calms, and the group approaches the two sets of doors to the largest box. They speak quickly, quietly, and all four slip into the room, hidden at the back in shadow. There are two guards who Stiles assumes are supposed to be watching the doors, but they seem more engrossed in whatever’s happening in the arena below them. Stiles creeps over to the edge of the one of the large curtains framing the box and hides behind it. From here, he’s safe to peek over the edge into the arena.

Stiles hears the wolves behind him growl and attack, but he can’t bring himself to pay attention to them when, down in the arena, Derek and Scott are fighting. Or, were fighting, clearly, until they interrupted. They’ve both stopped at the noise, and turned, panting, to face the box. They’re both cut up and bloody, but as far as Stiles can tell, there’s nothing on either of them that will take more than a day or two to heal. Either they were very evenly matched, or they were relying on the rest of the pack and trying to drag this out. Stiles isn’t sure which is the better option, but they’re here now, so he supposes it doesn’t matter. The one thing he desperately wants to understand, but can’t seem to wrap his head around, is _why_ they agreed to fight in the first place. He’s wondering this as a cry cuts through the haze of noise around him.

“Stay where you are or I’ll shoot her!”

Stiles comes back to himself immediately. He crouches and peers around the edge of the curtain and surveys the scene. He doesn’t like what he sees.

First, there are two bodies near the doors, which he assumes will be the guards. That’s not so bad. Second, there’s three other people cowering by the seats, and Stiles thinks one of them might be crying. They look put together and pampered, and Stiles assumes these are the rich clients. That’s not so bad either. Third, Park has retreated to just in front of where Stiles peeks out from the curtains. This might even be good, if he weren’t also holding a gun to Lydia’s head with his finger firmly on the trigger.

At least Stiles gets why they agreed to fight now.

“Don’t move. I’d hate to mess up such a pretty face.” Stiles feels disgust run through him, and he can see it mirrored next to the helplessness on the wolves’ faces.

“Don’t hurt her.” Says Erica, and she’s clearly scared, but it doesn’t waver. Stiles is proud, but he doesn’t have time to focus on it right now. He’s watching something else.

“I don’t want to hurt her.” Insists Park. “I’m a good man, really. Not usually in the business of shooting people. I find it dreadfully distasteful.”

Stiles hand shifts, gripping tight to what he’s holding. He makes a tiny gesture to the wolves: keep him talking, I need more time.

“You know what I find distasteful?” Asks Isaac. “Kidnapping. Torture. Forcing people to fight for your own amusement. Things like that.” Park laughs.

“Oh boy, that’s not distasteful. That’s business. Do you know how much money I make off of this? People pay thousands.”

“We don’t care.” Replies Boyd. “It’s disgusting.”

“And what would you know about it? You’re abominations, the lot of you. A perverse joke of nature.” Park isn’t laughing any more.

“The only abomination here is you, Park.”

“How dare you-“ Park’s grip on the gun shifts, and Stiles sees it, the split second his finger moves away from the trigger, and he throws himself forward towards him.

The knife slides into the base of parks Spine.

-

Stiles knows the pack kills people sometimes. It’s a hard fact to avoid when he’s usually the one orchestrating it. And he knows it’s a necessary evil, okay, he has no delusions about this. Sometimes people are a threat, and sometimes, they’re just Bad, sometimes you can’t stop them and you can’t save them. So objectively, Stiles understands that sometimes, just sometimes, people have to die.

What Stiles doesn’t understand is how the pack can keep going once they’ve done it, because Stiles’ hands are covered in someone else’s blood and he can’t hear anything beyond the rushing in his ears. The whole world is blurry and bright and the only thing in focus is the bright red staining his skin and his vision and his shirt. His skin is prickling and he’s watching with a detached sense of panic as Park’s body slumps to the floor at his feet. If someone attacked him right now, he wouldn’t even know it was happening until he was dead.

But no one’s attacking him. The world is buzzing around his head and pitching beneath his feet, but there’s a bubble around him and the body, oh god, the body, it’s right there, right in front of him and he did that, he killed him, he killed a person, a human being, not a monster or a creature, a human, and that makes him a _murderer_ , god, what would his _dad_ think-

Derek is there. There’s no transition, no approach. Derek is not there, and then he is, and his hands are on Stiles’ shoulders, and he wants to push him away, wants to scream and shout and tell him he’s not worth it, he’s bad, he just _killed_ someone, but Derek keeps his hands there and squeezes and says his name, and suddenly Stiles is gasping in air like he’d been holding his breath. He still feels like he’s shaking apart, but Derek is so solid, hands so steady on him, and he throws himself forward, feels Derek’s start of surprise and then his strong arms wrapping around him. Stiles shakes and gasps and trusts Derek’s strength to hold him together.

When he finally looks up he doesn’t know if it’s minutes or hours later, and the room around him is empty save for the pack. Stiles wishes he could just close his eyes and never open them again, but there’s still a body to be dealt with and people to free, and Stiles feels like he needs to help, needs to come up with a plan, needs to be what Stiles always is at this point.

“Is everyone okay?” He asks slowly, blinking and looking around. No one seems to have gained more than a few scratches while he was out, and when he looks around for the cause, he finds them bleeding out near the door wells. It seems the remaining guards heard the commotion and came running to help. Stiles doesn’t think his stomach has ever churned so much at the sight of a corpse before. He hates that he’s been so blasé about death up until now. He hates suddenly feeling the weight of every person they’ve killed. He hates that, now that he’s thinking about it, it’s really quite a lot of people.

When he tunes back into the pack they’re looking at him expectantly. He gets the feeling someone asked him something, but he has no idea who, or what. He wishes he did because they all look incredibly worried. Even Isaac seems concerned, and Stiles would be touched if he wasn’t so exhausted all of a sudden.

“What?”

“I asked if you were okay Stiles.” Says Scott, taking a short step towards him. Next to him, Derek makes a small sound suspiciously like a growl and Scott makes a face at him. Derek’s hold tightens a little and Scott seems to sigh in defeat, taking a small step back. Stiles can feel Derek relax, but his arms don’t loosen. He shakes his head when Stiles gives him a quizzical look, and Stiles figures it can wait.

“I’m fine.” Says Stiles, and he doesn’t need the snort (thank you, Erica) to know that no one believes him. “I am. I’m okay. How did you get out of the arena?” Derek shakes his head again, like he doesn’t have an answer.

“I have a theory, actually.” Says Boyd, and Stiles turns to look at him. “We killed the witch. No witch, no wards.” Stiles doesn’t know enough about magic to say whether or not it’s right, but he can’t be bothered to come up with an alternate solution.

“Maybe.” He says, then looks around the room again. “What are we going to do with the… with the bodies?”

“You don’t need to worry about that right now.” Derek says into his ear, and Stiles pushes himself out of Derek’s arms and twists to look at him. Derek growls quietly again and reaches for him, but Stiles musters the strongest glare he can manage right now and Derek’s arms drop.

“Really? What was your plan for clean-up then?” Derek sighs.

“This place is abandoned, Stiles. No one will come here for a long time, and there’s too many to bury. Throw them all in the basement and be done with it.” Stiles frowns and ignores the twist in his gut at the casual way they’re talking about the people they’ve just killed.

“Okay, ignoring the chances of anyone coming here anyway and investigating the _blood stains_ all over the place, what about Park?”

“What about him?” Asks Isaac. “Leave him here to rot.” Stiles rolls his eyes. He’s too tired for this.

“And when people realise he’s missing? When they start looking for him? When they go through the property he owns to see if they can find him and someone stumbles across this place, because I assure you, Park was not stupid enough to set up an underground supernatural fight club on premises he did not own, abandoned or not. What then?”

The pack exchange looks. He can tell none of them have thought about this, except for possibly Lydia, who’s nodding.

“Stiles is right. The rest, maybe, but we can’t leave Park at the least. He’s too high profile. Even if he didn’t own this place in his own name, there’s still going to be threads that someone could follow here. There’s too much risk.”

“So what do we do?” Scott sounds frustrated, and all heads swivel to face Stiles. He sighs like a piece of his soul is leaving his body.

“The woods.” He says, and confused looks are exchanged. “We live in a mountain lion area.” The looks he gets from the pack range from impressed to horrified. “Park his car at the entrance to a jogging trail, place him somewhere along it. Joggers always find the bodies.”

“Alright.” Says Derek as he stands. ”Lydia, take Stiles home. The rest of you can stay and help me deal with the prisoners.” Erica sags a little, but doesn’t protest. Stiles would like to, but he’s done his part now, and if he stays he’ll just be in the way. Besides, he doesn’t really want to see Park get ripped apart. He doesn’t ever want to see Park at all, ever again. He doesn’t need any more nightmares from this night.

He really wants to go home.

Lydia helps him stand up and really, she’s carrying him more than anything, and Stiles doesn’t even have the energy to apologise anymore. He knows she’s been through a lot tonight too, but he just can’t find the energy to worry about it. She all but drags him to the car, and Stiles doesn’t zone out so much as black out until they reach his house, and all of a sudden, he’s panicking again.

“My shirt!” He practically shouts, grabbing at it. “My dad can’t see, the blood, there’s-“

“Stiles!” Says Lydia, leaning across to grab Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s okay. I have a jumper in here somewhere. Hold on.” She leans into the backseat and comes up with a plain black jumper, thrusting it at Stiles, who pulls his own shirt off and pulls it on. It’s a little small, but it’s clean and blood free. Stiles takes a deep breath. “Okay?”

“Okay. Okay. Right.” He says, steeling himself and reaching for the door handle. He stumbles a little as he gets out and Lydia’s hand makes a reflexive move over the centre console as if she can catch him. He gives her his best winning smile, which tonight is more of a grimace, and pushes himself up the driveway.

The door flings open as he reaches it and Sarah is standing there anxiously, staring at him with wide eyes, his dad not far behind her.

“Are you okay?” She asks worriedly. “I smelled the blood. Are you hurt?” She bites her lip, and his dad pushes his way past her to grab at Stiles.

“Blood? Where?” He demands.

“I’m fine, Dad.” Stiles bats at his hands weakly. “It’s not mine.”

The sheriff looks him in the eyes for a second, but he seems to believe him as he backs off a little to usher him through the doorway, waving a hand to the car idling in the driveway, which backs out and drives away as he shuts the door.

“Park?” Asks Sarah as he gets past the doorway. “Is he-“

“He’s not a problem.” Interrupts Stiles. “It’s dealt with. Can we- can we leave this ‘til tomorrow? Please?” He’s practically begging, and she seems to feel his desperation, because she nods and backs off a little. His dad is still staring at him, clearly a thousand questions he’s refusing to let off of the tip of his tongue, and Stiles just. Cannot. He is so tired.

“I’m going to bed.” He announces, and he can hear them both open their mouths to say something, but he turns his back and ignores them as he trudges his way upstairs. And if he leans on the handrail a lot more than usual, well, who’s to know?

When he reaches his room, it’s almost a surprise that it looks the same. Everything feels different now, but nothing is. It’s like he’s in some parallel universe where everything is identical but shifted two inches to the left. The entire world has shifted on its axis, and he is the only one who can feel it.

He lies down on top of his covers expecting to pass out immediately, but suddenly he can smell the blood again, and it’s in his throat and nose and now it’s all over his bed, and he can’t, he’s contaminating it, so he gets up and throws the bedclothes into a corner before all but running to the shower. He turns it as hot as he can stand it and sits in it, clothes and all, until it’s too much and he’s struggling to get out of them, fabric too heavy, too constricting, and too soaked to come off properly. He can feel the tears start as he wrestles desperately with his jeans, and he’s choking off sobs because the damn things won’t come _off_ -

And then the jeans are gone and he’s overbalancing, and he catches himself on the edge of the bathtub, only making a slight thud and a few new bruises as he lands. Immediately there’s a knock at the door and his father’s voice demanding to know if he’s alright, and Stiles manages to speak through the tears, convinces him he’s fine, and his father grumbles, but trusts his son to be honest with him about this.

Stiles feels awful because he is not fine, he’s in pieces, he’s broken, he’s the dictionary definition of _not fine_ , but his dad can’t help, and he’ll only make him sad if he lets him try. So Stiles sits there with sobs wracking his body until the water goes cold, and then he turns the shower off and lets the cold shivers take him until he feels like he can breathe again, and then he wraps himself in the fluffiest towel he owns and returns to his same-but-different bedroom.

When he gets back to his room, Derek is there by the window, and Stiles is too tired to be surprised. He hasn’t turned on the light so he can’t see his face, and he’s glad. He doesn’t know what expression Derek is making, but he knows he wouldn’t like it.

“Stiles...” Starts Derek, but Stiles holds up a hand that he knows Derek can see before going over to his dresser. He pulls on boxers and a shirt and then walks over to Derek. Derek opens his mouth to say something but Stiles kind of face plants into his chest, and Derek’s arms come up to hold him and he doesn’t speak.

They stand like that for a while, and Stiles isn’t shaking apart this time, but he still feels like Derek’s arms might be the only thing keeping him together. Eventually, he’s too tired to keep standing, so he goes over to his closet and pulls out a blanket that used to belong to his mother. He tries not to use it unless it’s the worst kind of bad day, but he figures this qualifies. Derek looks at his duvet on the floor, but doesn’t say anything. Stiles is grateful. He lies down and Derek turns to go, but Stiles can’t bear to be alone right now.

“Derek.” He whispers, and he knows Derek heard him by the way he turns to face him again. Stiles doesn’t know quite how to articulate what he wants right now, and he thinks he might be too tired to speak anyway, so he holds up the blanket and stares expectantly. Derek is frozen for a moment.

“You…” He says, but doesn’t continue. Stiles nods anyway, and Derek slowly shrugs off his jacket and toes off his shoes, moving like he expects Stiles to change his mind at any moment, but Stiles just waits patiently.

Finally, _finally_ , Derek slides in next to him, and Stiles buries himself in his chest immediately. Derek’s arms go around him again, and it’s not the most comfortable Stiles has ever been – Derek’s jeans rub against the bare skin of his legs, and his nose is kind of squished – but it feels like the safest place he could possibly be, and he falls asleep almost instantly.

-

Stiles can’t breathe.

There’s blood filling his nose and throat and he can’t breathe, tries to swallow past it, but liquid floods down his throat. He’s drowning, red above and around and beneath him, and he can hear Park laughing at him.

“Stiles.” He calls, and it’s mocking and awful, and Stiles is struggling, but there’s nowhere to _go_.

“Stiles!” He calls again, and it sounds less like him, but it’s still Park laughing, and he won’t stop, he just keeps going, and Stiles is going to die here, he’s going die, he’s going to die, he’s dying-

“Stiles!” Stiles’ eyes fly open and he sits up in one sudden motion. His throat is raw and painful, but he can breathe again, gulping down big mouthfuls of clean air. He puts his head in his hands and breathes until he can find the strength to look up, and when he does he sees his dad kneeling at the side of his bed.

“You alright there, son?” His dad looks worried, and Stiles feels awful.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” His voice is hoarse from what he knows is screaming.

“No. I was already up. You want to talk about it?” His dad moves to sit next to him on the bed, and no, Stiles does not want to tell his father, the sheriff, that he _killed someone_ , but he feels a need to confess.

“I… I did something, Dad.” He whispers.

“Was it bad?” He asks, and Stiles would laugh if he didn’t feel so incredibly awful.

“Yeah, Dad. It was bad. The worst kind of bad.” The sheriff rubs his back like he used to when Stiles was a kid, tilting his head like he’s thinking.

“Was it necessary?”

Stiles freezes. Was it necessary? He did something awful. He did possibly the most awful thing he is capable of doing. But… was it necessary? Stiles thinks, and it doesn’t take him long to come to a conclusion. The people Park kidnapped deserved better. The people Park hadn’t yet kidnapped deserved better. People were in danger, his friends were in danger. He couldn’t just have let Lydia die. And Park wasn’t going to stop. Stiles knows it like he knows his own name, knows that there was nothing they could have done to convince him. Stiles thinks. For his friends, for Park’s victims, for the people they had a duty to protect.

“Yes.” It’s quiet, but it’s sure. Stiles is certain now.

“Okay then.” Says the sheriff, and doesn’t continue. Stiles glances at him.

“You don’t… you don’t want to know anything else?” His dad smiles at him.

“What else do I need to know? I trust you Stiles. You’re a good kid, and if you did something awful it’s because there was no other choice. You’re a good _person_ , and I know I probably don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of who you’ve become. I’m really proud of you, son.”

Stiles thought he had cried himself out last night, but he can’t control the tears as they take him again, and his dad sweeps him up, holding him as Stiles sobs. They sit like that for what feels like a very long time, long after Stiles stops crying, and honestly, Stiles is so tired he could probably fall asleep like this, but eventually his dad pulls away.

“You know… it’s Monday today.” Stiles groans. “But honestly, you look like you could use at least three days asleep. I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be absent, yeah?” Stiles does his best to summon a smile, but he’s not sure he quite manages it.

His dad leaves and Stiles lies back down. It’s as he’s drifting off again that he realises Derek isn’t there.

-

On Tuesday, Stiles goes back to school. It’s less that he feels ready to go back, and more that he can’t bear another day alone with his thoughts. He needs something to occupy him. The others assure him that the prisoners got out and home safe and Park was dealt with, and after that, Stiles refuses to talk to them about it. He just goes to school, and does normal teenager things, and pretends he leads a normal teenager’s life instead of this clusterfuck he’s found himself in the middle of.

Saturday morning, he decides it’s been long enough. He hasn’t seen Derek since that night, and the others have been dodging his questions, except to assure him that Derek’s perfectly okay. And look, if Derek doesn’t want to talk to him, that’s his prerogative, except that there’s still a conversation they need to have, and Stiles is done waiting. Derek will just have to grow up and deal with it.

He’s thinking this as he pulls up to the loft, and he wonders on his way up if Derek will ignore his knocking and pretend he’s not home. Although Stiles has been known to just pick the lock if he doesn’t get an answer, so Derek might not risk it.

He’s not sure which it is, but when he knocks, Derek answers. He looks tired too, beyond his normal level of ever-present exhaustion, but aside from that, he looks much the same as he always does. He walks over to one of the windows and looks out, leaving his back to Stiles. Stiles enters and pushes the door shut behind him, and suddenly he’s not half as sure about this as he had been on the way here.

“How are you?” He jumps when Derek speaks first, and tries to cover it with a cough.

“I’m okay. I’m tired, still, but. I’m okay.” Derek seems to nod to himself.

“Good. That’s good.” Stiles sighs. They’re getting nowhere. Maybe he should try a different approach.

“So you’ve been avoiding me.” Derek glances at him and turns his face away again too slowly to hide the guilt on his face.

“I’m not avoiding you, Stiles.”

“Yes, you are! And I’m sick of it. Can you just tell me why? Tell me what I did? Is it because of… because of what I did? To Park?” Stiles swallows, and he can feel a burn behind his eyes, and nope, he is _not_ going to cry in front of Derek. He’d thought he was past this.

“What? Of course not. Hey. Hey, look at me.” Derek strides over to Stiles and puts a hand on his shoulder, resting the other on Stiles’ cheek and using it to tilt his face up. “What you did was incredibly brave. You saved Lydia’s life, and probably everyone’s else’s as well. You did the right thing, Stiles.” Stiles can feel the tears beginning to slip down his face, taking his defences along with them. He doesn’t have the will to stop himself before he blurts out the thing that’s been sitting at the forefront of his mind this past week.

“I love you.”

Derek freezes and Stiles immediately catches up to his mouth. He panics, but he figures there’s no way to un-say it now. He tries to pull away, but Derek’s hand tightens on his shoulder, stopping him from going.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel that way.” He closes his eyes. He can’t stand the blank look on Derek’s face. “I didn’t even really realise it until… well. After that night in Park’s office, I guess. I’d gotten so good at not thinking about things I couldn’t have that I didn’t even know I was in love with you until I fucking kissed you.” He laughs, even though it’s the furthest thing from funny. He opens his eyes reluctantly and Derek is frowning, mouth hanging open like he’s searching for words and coming up blank. Stiles’ chest hurts like something is crushing it. “I should go, Derek. Just let me go.”

“No.” Says Derek, and Stiles frowns and opens his mouth to respond when Derek says, “I mean, wait. Just. Let me talk now. Please?” Derek’s voice is bordering on desperate, and Stiles doesn’t know why he thought he could deal with this, because he absolutely can’t, but he stays where he is anyway.

“I didn’t think it meant anything to you. The kiss, I mean. And I – I wanted it to. Mean something. But you just… You deserve so many good things, Stiles. And I… I’m not good. I’m broken, Stiles. I’m always angry and I can barely keep myself together, let alone a pack. And you just, you glue everything together, keep everything connected. We would fall apart without you. _I_ would fall apart without you. You are _everything_ , and I, well. I’m just me.”

“Is it my turn to speak now?” Asks Stiles, and Derek nods. “Bullshit.”

“What? Stiles, I-“

“Shh! Shh.” Stiles presses his hand against Derek’s mouth. “Stiles’ turn now. And Stiles is calling bullshit.” Derek makes a muffled protest against his hand and Stiles shakes his head. “It is. You think you’re the only one with issues, Derek? I’ve had nightmares every night this week. Some nights I’ve fallen asleep four separate times and had four separate nightmares. And that’s not exactly a new thing.” He takes his hand away from Derek’s mouth and rests it on his chest. “Do you know the pressure there has been on me since the beginning? Hey Stiles, figure this out, hey Stiles find a way to kill this, hey Stiles, think up an incredible plan in two seconds before this thing eats my face! It’s a lot to deal with.

“You don’t have a monopoly on brokenness, Derek. And the idea that you being broken is a bad thing is a special kind of bullshit of its own. You are incredible, and selfless, and you care so deeply, even if you had to be dragged kicking and screaming into it. I know you would give your life for the pack without a second thought.”

“So would you.” Derek murmurs, and Stiles shrugs.

“Yeah, well. Keeping you guys alive is kind of my job.” He smiles, and Derek’s eyes are filled with something he can’t quite name, but he thinks wonder might be close. “And I mean, it’s worth it. The pack is family now. Our family.”

“Can I kiss you?” Whispers Derek.

“Oh my god, please.” Says Stiles, and Derek is laughing even as he’s leaning in.

Their lips meet, and it’s at once familiar and entirely new. Stiles knows what Derek’s lips feel like, felt them pressed against his own in Park’s office barely a week ago, but this kiss is different. It’s not about Park, it’s not about hiding. This kiss is about them, and it’s soft and gentle, and it’s everything Stiles never allowed himself to want.

Stiles moves back and they look at each other for a moment, this beautiful and fragile thing settling tenderly between them. Stiles is just about to lean in again when he hears a door open upstairs. He goes to step away, but Derek lands a firm hand on his hip and Stiles settles for peering over his shoulder to see who it is.

“Get a room.” Calls Sarah as she descends the stairs. Stiles looks between her and Derek.

“I didn’t realise you were still here.” Sarah shoots a look at Derek, who immediately looks contrite and rubs the back of his neck. Stiles narrows his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I was going to run it by you next time I saw you.” Explains Derek, wincing like he’s suddenly realised the flaw in that plan. “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t mind.”

“Will someone please just tell me what’s going on?” Exclaims Stiles exasperatedly.

“I’m staying.” Blurts Sarah, and Stiles frowns in confusion. “I mean, I don’t really have anywhere to go now, so Derek said I could stay. See if I thought I could find a place here, with you guys. Is it – I mean, if it’s a problem-“

“No! No problem, honest.” He rushes to assure her, unable to bear the uncertain look on her face as if she really thinks he might kick her out. “I just don’t appreciate not being in the loop. But that’s hardly your fault.” He cuts a look at Derek. “I’m glad you’re staying. I think you’ll fit in well here.” She smiles brightly, and heads into the kitchen. Stiles hears the tap turn on and turns back to Derek.

“You would have found out eventually?” He offers, and Stiles raises and eyebrow, unimpressed.

“This is why you don’t avoid people, Derek. This was something I needed to know about.”

“You’re right.” Derek sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you make it up to me.” Stiles grins salaciously and pulls Derek in for another kiss.

“Gross.” Mutters Sarah as she walks past them, headed back upstairs to where Stiles assumes Derek has set up a bedroom for her. He pulls away from Derek.

“You’ll understand when you’re older!” He calls, and she snorts.

“Just make sure you soundproof the bedroom. Werewolf hearing, remember?” Derek honest to god _blushes_ and buries his head in Stiles’ neck, smacking his shoulder as Stiles starts shaking, but he can’t help it, he’s laughing and he’s so happy he can’t stop. He feels like he’s on top of the world.

-

It’s not all smooth sailing after that. In a month, Stiles will finally get his long awaited meeting with a vampire and he’ll think up some choice words for past him when he’s laid up in the hospital with severe blood loss. Two weeks after that, Stiles and Derek will have their first big fight, and it will be about both of their tendencies to try and sacrifice themselves for others. It’ll take them three days to make up, but they’ll both agree that they’re better off for it.

And that’s not even mentioning the amount of convincing it takes to make Scott believe he hasn’t gone crazy. Even Lydia seems to think he’s lost it at first, but it’s only a few weeks of seeing the way him and Derek interact now for them to realise that they’re happy, and that it might actually be a good thing.

And it is. It’s a really good thing. It’s possibly the best thing that’s happened to Stiles in years, and he loves it. He loves the casual intimacy he has with Derek now. He loves how they can talk for hours about everything and nothing. He loves how he’s allowed to say that he loves Derek now, and he doesn’t have to hide it from anyone, least of all himself.

It’s not perfect. There are still bad days for both of them, and Beacon Hills isn’t letting up on the crazy any time soon. But in the midst of it all, they have the pack, and they have each other, and they make it work. And Stiles?

Stiles thinks they’re gonna be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't watched an episode of Teen Wolf since about half way through season four. Sorry if anyone is out of character.
> 
> This is my first long work, and it's also my first work with the whole pack. Dialogue with seven to eight people is hard, yo. 
> 
> I actually wrote an outline for this, and I was really tired and really sick while writing it. Some of my favourite lines:  
> -(Stiles would disagree – he is certainly not whole, not unscarred. He thinks Derek is beautiful, and self-sacrificing, and everything that is good. He does not realise that he thinks this because he is an idiot, and also very good at repressing shit.)  
> -Is this how wolfsbane wounds work? Who knows. They leave her with the sheriff while they go to deal with this shit.  
> -Stiles is human, so the wards on the cell don’t mean shit to him.  
> -Stiles is shook.  
> And my personal favourite,  
> -He has realised this week what he always knew deep down – that he’s thirsty for Derek’s hot bod, and also in love with him or whatever. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear criticisms if you have them.
> 
> Come talk to me at annalikestotalk.tumblr.com


End file.
